Has Anyone Seen Commander Murphy?
by Kathy Rose
Summary: Trip's quest for corned beef and cabbage on St. Patrick's Day.


Author's note: Someone wanted something for St. Patrick's Day, and of course, once I started thinking about it, I was doomed. I came up with this. A tip of the hat to an episode of M*A*S*H that gave me inspiration. Beta'd by Kylie Lee.

MARCH 9

(Eight days before St. Patrick's Day)

"I shouldn't be doing this," Hoshi whispered to Trip.

Trip looked over his shoulder. No one on the bridge seemed to be paying any attention to him as he stood next to the communications console. As luck would have it, both the captain and T'Pol were not present; otherwise, he wouldn't have dared talk about this with Hoshi right now. He looked back at her and leaned a little closer. "We need a break from the daily grind," he said in a soft, cajoling tone. "A little party would liven things up and lift everyone's spirits. Besides, we always celebrate St. Patrick's Day in my family, and I wouldn't be adverse to a little wearin' o' the green myself."

Hoshi pushed a few more keys, adding to the personnel file she was fabricating at Trip's request. "I didn't know you were of Irish descent," she murmured.

"Some of the Tuckers came from the old sod. I've also got ancestors who came from Germany and England, not to mention some Native American blood. I think there's an Italian back on my mother's side somewhere, too. But the point is--" He glanced around again and lowered his voice, which had risen as he'd warmed to his topic. "The point is we always celebrate St. Patrick's Day. I guess you could call us Irish Americans, even though my family has lived in the American South for generations and developed what other people call an accent." He chuckled. "I don't know why they call it that. They're the ones talkin' funny."

Hoshi snorted. "You asked Chef to prepare a special meal, and he said no, didn't he?"

Trip sighed. "Actually, I didn't ask. You know Chef only makes culture-related feasts when there's somebody from that place on board. Otherwise, he says, he'd have to do something special every day. And Chef probably wouldn't buy the argument that St. Patrick's Day is just about as big a celebration in the United States as it is in Ireland." He sighed again. "That's why we've got to create a crewman with direct ties to Ireland."

"What department?" asked Hoshi, who had kept on track while Trip had rambled.

"Better make it engineering. That way I can cover for our newest crewman."

Her hands stilled. "I'd suggest you make him an officer. That way, he can't be ordered around by most of the other officers."

Trip's eyes widened in appreciation. "Good idea. Let's make him a lieutenant commander. Maybe he's here on temporary assignment to do some special engineering refits or upgrades. Yeah, that's it. We can say he came aboard at the end of our maintenance stay in space dock last week. He was so eager, he went right to work, and even I have hardly seen him since. If anyone wants to know where he's at, we can always say he got called to another part of the ship." He paused thoughtfully, rubbing his chin. "He'll need a name."

"How about Murphy?" Hoshi suggested. At Trip's inquiring glance, she explained, "It's one of the most -- if not _the _most -- common surname in Ireland."

A conspiratorial grin broke out on Trip's face. "I knew there was a reason I picked you to help me with this."

"You've got a problem, though," she pointed out as if he hadn't spoken. "You want corned beef and cabbage, right?" At his nod, she continued, "That's more of an American tradition, developed by the Irish who immigrated there."

"You are just a font of information about all kinds of things," Trip muttered with a frown. "Now how am I going to get Chef to fix that?"

Hoshi smiled. "Let me tell Chef that I overheard Murphy saying it's his favorite meal."

MARCH 11

(Six days before St. Patrick's Day)

The mess hall was busy with crewmen coming and going from their shifts during their lunch breaks. Hoshi was sharing a table with Malcolm and Travis when Trip walked in. The chief engineer joined them after choosing a meal from the serving cabinets.

"I can't believe how crowded it is in here!" Trip said as he sat down. "Good thing you saved me a place."

"You're lucky," Travis told him. "If you'd been here a few minutes earlier, that seat would have been occupied by Commander Murphy."

Trip almost choked on the bite of hero sandwich he'd just taken. His eyes darted to Hoshi.

She looked back innocently. "Commander Murphy left before Travis and Malcolm came in. They just missed him."

Trip took a drink of water to clear his throat.

"I'm looking forward to meeting the man myself," Malcolm said as he cut into the grilled salmon on his plate. "Hoshi says his credentials are impeccable. I'd like to discuss those upgrades to the torpedo arming system with him." He shot Trip a glance. "You know, the ones I've told you about but you haven't been able to get to because you haven't had time."

Trip gulped. "I'll see if I can arrange that." He glanced at Hoshi once more. To his dismay, her expression told him that he was on his own. She'd had reservations about this plan from the first, and apparently she was only going to help him out so far. His gaze darted back to Malcolm, but the tactical officer was engrossed in his meal and didn't ask anything else about Murphy.

A few minutes passed in desultory conversation on other topics. At last, Malcolm and Travis finished eating and left to return to duty. Trip exhaled heavily as they walked away from the table. With a scowl, he turned to Hoshi. "Did you have to talk to them about Murphy?"

"Travis brought it up," she responded. "He saw Murphy's name on the daily duty roster."

If there was one person on board who'd go out of his way to meet a new person, it was Travis. Still, they should be able to hold off the inquisitive helmsman for a few days, Trip thought. It was a good thing Travis and the alleged Irish engineer were in different departments; there was less chance of Travis expecting to run into him because of it. The imaginary lieutenant commander was just going to have to be so busy as to be unavailable. Luckily, that was taken care of. One of the few things that Hoshi had agreed to do, besides make up a personnel file, was work out a duty schedule for Murphy based on a list of projects Trip had given her.

"So what is Murphy doing today?" Trip asked.

"He's working on the plasma relays on decks D through F."

Most of the plasma relays were in dimly lit crawlways where no one went unless they had to. Trip nodded approvingly. "That should make him pretty hard to track down."

MARCH 13

(Four days before St. Patrick's Day)

"I understand that St. Patrick's Day is a religious observance," T'Pol said as she looked over a requisition on the data padd Chef had presented to her as she ate lunch in the mess hall.

Chef shrugged eloquently. "It may have started out that way, but it is now a celebration of the culture of Ireland."

"And that is why you need green food coloring?" she asked.

"Yes. It is the color associated with Ireland. I need it for the dessert I am planning, and for the beer. I had none in the galley, and when I went to get some from the quartermaster, he said new regulations require all requisitions go through the first officer."

T'Pol, whose her nose had wrinkled at the mention of the alcoholic beverage, approved the requisition and turned off the padd. Perhaps she should submit a report to Starfleet about the new requisition protocol. It seemed extremely restrictive for something as innocuous as food coloring. As she handed the padd back to Chef, she asked, "You will be making a special meal that day?"

He beamed. "Yes. Ensign Sato informed me that Commander Murphy's favorite meal is corned beef and cabbage. So that is what we will have. I also have the ingredients for a white cake, but I want to make it green to surprise Commander Murphy. He should be thrilled! I cannot wait to see his expression."

* * *

"Another interesting human custom!" Phlox said as he treated the nasty-looking scrape on Hoshi's elbow. "I've never had a chance to participate in St. Patrick's Day festivities."

Hoshi grimaced as the doctor applied antiseptic to the injured spot. She couldn't believe she'd stumbled in her own quarters and had banged her arm on the edge of her desk when she'd tried to break her fall. At the time, she'd been thinking about more out-of-the-way assignments for Murphy so that no one would expect to run into him. No wonder she'd been clumsy, as distracted as she'd been. It was hard work, keeping Murphy busy and totally unavailable.

Phlox finished treating the injury and smiled at her. "I can't wait to meet Commander Murphy and tell him how pleased I am that, because he's on board, I get to experience yet another human celebration. I have been researching the history of Ireland in anticipation."

Hoshi bit her tongue. It was becoming harder and harder to keep up the charade. The elusive Murphy had become one of the most talked-about crew members in the last few days. How had she ever let Trip talk her into this? At least she'd quieted her conscience by ratting...er, talking to the one person who understood Trip's compulsion to do things like this, and had probably avoided a court-martial for both of them in the process -- fabricating personnel files was a serious offense. So she said, "I'm sure he'll appreciate it."

"That reminds me. I need to schedule a physical for Commander Murphy." Phlox turned and began putting the items he'd been using on a nearby tray. "It's standard procedure, and being an officer, surely he knows he's supposed to have one after reporting for duty on a starship. I'm surprised he hasn't stopped in to see me by now."

Behind his back, Hoshi rolled her eyes in exasperation. She didn't know how much longer she could keep prevaricating. "If I see him, I'll let him know. But you might want to wait until after St. Patrick's Day. He's got a pretty busy schedule until then."

* * *

"How's your temporary engineer working out?" Jon asked Trip as they watched a polo match on the screen in Jon's quarters.

Trip closed his eyes. Of all the people on board, he had only really been troubled about deceiving the captain in his quest to have an honest-to-goodness St. Patrick's Day dinner. He'd been planning to tell Jon after the fact, knowing they'd both get a good laugh out of him pulling one over on stubborn Chef, but if Jon suddenly started wanting to know about their new crew member, it could be awkward.

Trip considered telling him the truth, but a vision of corned beef and cabbage, boiled potatoes dripping with melted butter, and a hearty chunk of Irish soda bread rose before him. He wavered. Then beer the color of shamrocks joined the vision, cementing his will.

"Murphy's been very busy," he temporized. "One might even say dedicated."

Jon smiled as he watched the polo match. "That's the kind of people I like on board _Enterprise_."

Trip bobbed his head in agreement, feeling even more miserable about lying to Jon.

"In fact," Jon continued, "Hoshi has nothing but good things to say about him."

"Is that so?" Trip murmured.

After his alma mater scored a goal, Jon pulled his gaze away from the screen. "So, what's Murphy been up to?" he asked with a polite smile.

"Upgrading the plasma relays, checking the integrity of the exhaust conduits, tracking down that glitch in the warp core pressure bypass system, ah..."

Jon turned back to the game. "Way to go!" he cheered as his team recovered the ball. Without looking at Trip, he said, "Sounds like things you've been meaning to do. Maybe it's a good thing you've got an extra engineer on staff for the time being."

"Yeah," Trip said glumly. He'd realized several days ago that if Murphy was assigned certain tasks, somebody was going to have to do them. It wouldn't do for anyone to ask why Murphy wasn't getting anything done. As a result, Trip had been busier than he'd ever been, trying to do his own work and keep up with Murphy's. "He's a real go-getter all right."

MARCH 15

(Two days before St. Patrick's Day)

Malcolm, working at a station on the main floor of the armory, took a step to the side as he reached for a data padd. It was something he'd done countless times before without mishap while working at the station, but this time his shin banged into an obstacle. Unable to keep his balance, he fell awkwardly and landed on his rump.

He twisted around to see what had caused his fall. A metal toolbox protruded from under the work table. If there was one rule he enforced more rigorously than any other in the armory, it was that there was a place for everything, and everything should be in its place. This toolbox was definitely in the wrong place.

"Bloody hell!" he cursed. He pointed at the toolbox and demanded in a loud voice, "To whom does this belong?"

"Oh, that's Commander Murphy's," Foster said from where he was working on the fire control platform.

Malcolm grumbled as he got to his feet. He could have been seriously hurt. He gave the offending container a shove with his foot, sliding it all the way under the table, where it would be out of the way.

"What is Commander Murphy's toolbox doing in my armory?" Malcolm demanded.

"He was in here last night working on the torpedo arming system, according to Commander Tucker," Foster said. "I guess he forgot to take it with him when he left, because Commander Tucker paged us before you came in, wanting to know if it was here."

Malcolm frowned. Trip should be making Murphy find his own blasted toolbox. "Why was Mister Tucker looking for it?"

"Apparently Commander Murphy couldn't find it this morning, so he took Commander Tucker's toolbox."

The chief engineer was probably even more out of sorts than he was right now, Malcolm thought as he called up information on the computer at the workstation. No one in their right mind would take Trip's toolbox. He guarded it jealously.

He totally forgot about Trip looking for a subordinate's tools when he saw all the improvements that Murphy had made overnight to the torpedo arming system. By all rights, he ought to be angry with the Irishman for doing the work without first informing him. But Hoshi had been correct, he realized as he reviewed the improvements. The man bordered on being a genius.

MARCH 16

(One day before St. Patrick's Day)

"I'm beginning to think Commander Murphy's a leprechaun, and he's afraid we'll steal his pot of gold if we see him," Travis said to Hoshi as they rode the turbolift to the bridge.

Hoshi smiled wanly. If only Travis knew!

Thank goodness she'd been busy on the bridge all morning, for that meant she hadn't had to engage in any small talk with Travis about Murphy. She'd also managed to avoid the helmsman at lunch. But now she was trapped in the turbolift with him as they returned to duty.

Undeterred by her lack of response, Travis went on, "I'm looking forward to finally meeting him. Malcolm said he did wonders with the torpedo arming system. Even T'Pol said he did an excellent job clearing up that problem with the long-range scanners."

This last remark caught her off guard. She hadn't scheduled any repair work on the bridge for the fictitious crew member. "When did Commander Murphy do that?"

"Must have been last night," Travis said. "T'Pol put the work order in for it just before the end of shift yesterday, and when she came on duty this morning, she said it had been fixed."

Trip must have gone to the bridge during nighttime gamma shift, done the work, and then forged Murphy's signature on the work order as having been completed, Hoshi realized. She mentally crossed her fingers. As long as no one asked the gamma shift bridge crew who else had been on the bridge, the ruse shouldn't be found out.

Travis shook his head. "I can't believe anybody on board can be that busy. Isn't it against Starfleet regulations or something to pull double shifts all the time?"

"If it isn't, it should be," Hoshi murmured. Poor Trip must be running himself ragged.

She wondered what was going to happen when Murphy didn't show up for the St. Patrick's Day party, plans for which kept growing as more crew members heard about the celebratory meal. One of junior engineers was going to provide recordings of Irish music. On the heels of that news, a member of the science staff had said that she'd taken dance classes and could teach everyone how to do an Irish jig. And Welsh in security had a real shillelagh -- a knobby wooden walking stick that could double as a fighting staff -- that he was going to bring. Hoshi just hoped he didn't use it on Trip when the truth came out.

They were going to have one heck of a party, all right, but there was no way Murphy would put in an appearance. A lot of people were going to be disappointed, maybe even upset, when they found out that Murphy was a figment of Trip's imagination. She fervently hoped she didn't get caught in the fallout if anyone figured out she was Trip's accomplice.

"What's the matter, Hoshi?" Travis asked as the turbolift doors opened onto the bridge. "You're not getting sick or something, are you? It would be a shame if you had to miss the party."

Hoshi didn't answer as she stepped out of the lift. Maybe feigning illness wouldn't be such a bad idea.

* * *

Later that day, Jon saw Hoshi riding a stationary bike as he entered the gym. He'd planned to run on the treadmill, but because he was curious and there was no one but his communications officer in the gym, he changed his mind.

"Hoshi," he greeted her as he walked over to the bike next to hers.

She must have been riding for a while, for her response was breathy. "Sir."

Jon climbed on his bike and began pedaling. Neither spoke for a time, but he was watching her from the corner of his eye. He was ready when she turned to him with a forlorn expression. He looked over at her and smiled. "Seen Commander Murphy lately?" he asked.

"Very funny, sir," she huffed. She returned her gaze straight ahead, her shoulders slumping.

"What's the matter?" he asked. "I told you it was all right to help Trip. It's just a harmless practical joke, like the kind you and Travis like to pull. What Trip's come up with is just more elaborate."

"I know," she said. She stopped pedaling and inhaled deeply. "It's just that the joke is going to be on Trip."

"How so?"

"I don't think he thought this through," she said.

Jon had a feeling she wasn't finished, so he watched silently as she got off the bike and picked up her towel from a nearby bench. She wiped her face, dropped the towel on the bench, and turned to him with her hands on her hips.

"Do you know how much extra work Trip has put in trying to keep up with Murphy?" she asked. "It's getting worse because everyone wants Murphy to work on their department's equipment because he's so good. I don't think Trip has slept in days."

A chuckle escaped Jon. Yes, he did know. He'd been making sure to check the engineering and repair logs each day ever since Hoshi had told him what his chief engineer was up to. It was amazing the difference one extra engineer made, especially considering there was no such person. "I'd say Trip set himself up for that."

A wry smile flitted across her face. "Yes, he did." Her earlier sober demeanor returned. "But what worries me is what's going to happen when everyone finds out that there is no Commander Murphy."

Jon stopped pedaling to consider her. "Are you afraid something might happen?"

"I'm sure some people will be mad, and others upset that they were duped. Trip's going to take the brunt of it." She rubbed the back of her neck. "And I definitely don't want to be around when Chef finds out."

"You know," Jon said with a twinkle in his eyes, "all this could have been avoided if Trip had come to me and asked if we could have a St. Patrick's Day celebration."

It took a moment for Hoshi to understand the implication. Her eyes grew wide. "You're kidding."

"No," he said with a shake of his head. "I would have told Chef to fix Trip his corned beef and cabbage. But once I found out what Trip was doing..." He grinned at her. "It sounded like a typical Trip fiasco, and I couldn't wait to see how it would turn out."

Hoshi's mouth moved a few times but nothing came out. "Shame on you, sir!" she finally managed, but she said it with a smile.

"There's one thing, though," he cautioned her. "Don't let Trip know I know."

"Sir?"

Jon smiled and resumed pedaling. "Let's just say that while Trip's pulling a joke on everyone else, I'm going to pull a joke on him."

MARCH 17

St. Patrick's Day

Hoshi was on her way to the mess hall the next morning when she ran into Trip in the corridor. She was appalled to see how tired the engineer looked. There were dark rings under his eyes, his face was pale, and his uniform was rumpled.

"Here!" he said, thrusting a bag into her hands. "Can you see that these get distributed around the mess hall? Tell anybody who asks that Murphy made them."

Hoshi opened the bag to look inside. It was full of green paper shamrocks. "Sure, but why can't you do it?"

Trip shifted impatiently on his feet. "If I go into the mess hall, a dozen people are going to ask me where Murphy is and if he can repair something for them. I'm runnin' out of excuses, Hoshi."

"Aren't you going to eat breakfast?" she asked in concern.

"I grabbed something earlier, after I fixed the malfunctioning heating element on the galley stovetop." He exhaled heavily. "Chef cornered me yesterday and told me if I saw Murphy to ask him to take a look at it."

She gave him a stern look. "You _are _going to be there for the party this evening."

"Of course," he assured her with a measure of his old cockiness. "I wouldn't miss corned beef and cabbage for anything. And let me tell you, I could sure use a beer. I don't even care whether it's green."

"But what are you going to tell everyone when Murphy doesn't show up?"

Trip's confidence faltered. "I haven't figured that part out yet. I've been too busy!" With a feeble smile, he turned and walked quickly down the corridor.

Hoshi stared after him. If she could figure out a way to help Trip, she would, but she didn't have a clue how to explain Murphy to the rest of the crew. She'd have to tell the truth.

Wait a minute, she thought. That was it! Tonight, after it came out that the Irish engineer didn't exist, she'd defend Trip by saying that if it hadn't been for Murphy, they wouldn't have had the party -- not to mention that an awful lot of repair work had been accomplished in a very short time. Instead of being mad, everyone ought to thank Trip for inventing Murphy. They'd still be mad, but surely they would see the benefits of what Trip had done.

Feeling a bit better, she headed for the mess hall. Her steps slowed, however, as she approached the door. She remembered the captain saying he had something planned for Trip. She didn't think Jon would humiliate Trip in front of the rest of the crew, but that possibility worried her anyway. All this nonsense about Murphy was beginning to make her feel like she had an Irish Catholic complex. The guilt was almost unbearable.

She trudged into the mess hall to find Malcolm and Travis standing on chairs, hanging crepe paper streamers of green and white from the ceiling above the heads of crew members who were eating breakfast.

"Hoshi!" Travis called out when he saw her. "Have you seen Commander Murphy around anywhere?"

She mutely shook her head as she walked over to him.

"That's too bad. I was going to ask if he wanted to help with decorating," Travis said. He pointed at the table next to her. "Hand me that roll of tape, would you?"

Hoshi obediently did so. Travis tore off a piece and used it to stick the end of a green streamer to the ceiling.

"Hurry up, Travis!" Malcolm called from across the room. "I want to eat breakfast before I have to be on the bridge."

"I'm almost done!" Travis called back. He stuck another streamer in place, then hopped down from the chair. "What's in the bag?"

"Oh!" Hoshi said. "Some shamrocks to use as decorations."

She opened the bag, pulled out a handful of the paper shamrocks, and tossed them on the closest table.

"Neat! Did you make them?" Travis asked.

Remembering Trip's admonition, she said, "Ah, no. Commander Murphy did. He's, uh, really excited about the party."

"That man thinks of everything, doesn't he?" Travis said admiringly. He gestured toward the streamers. "Commander Tucker dropped off this stuff this morning. He said Commander Murphy was going to put them up last night, but he had some work to finish on the warp coil heat dispersers. I guess our guest of honor wants to get everything done so he can relax and enjoy the party."

"Yeah," Hoshi muttered. She was feeling worse about this debacle by the minute. She pulled more shamrocks out of the bag and tossed them on another table.

With Travis and Malcolm's help, in a few minutes, there were shamrocks on every table in the mess hall and on the counter by the serving cabinets. Travis stuck the last two shamrocks on the beverage dispenser.

"They do brighten up the mess hall, don't they?" Malcolm said, looking around at the profusion of green clovers as he, Travis, and Hoshi selected their breakfasts. "Chef's going to have a fit if they wind up all over the floor, though."

Under her breath, Hoshi said, "The way things are going, that will be the least of my worries."

Malcolm turned toward her. "Did you say something, Hoshi?"

"I said, if you're going to make it to the bridge on time, you'll have to hurry."

* * *

The captain stopped Hoshi outside the mess hall after breakfast. He handed her a data chip. "Log this in when you get to the bridge. It came in last night," he said.

She turned the chip over in her hand. It appeared to be a standard data storage chip for communication transmissions. There were no notations on the outside to indicate what was on it. She looked at Jon.

"It's part of my surprise for Trip," he told her. "Go ahead and look at it if you want." Before she could ask any questions, he had headed toward his private dining room.

The first thing Hoshi did when she arrived on the bridge was slot in the data chip Jon had given her. The transmission appeared to be genuine. Through some analysis, she found that while _Enterprise _had indeed received the transmission, it had been coded to the captain's private frequency, and he'd received it in his quarters. What was truly startling, however, was that the transmission appeared to be in response to one the captain had sent earlier -- a transmission that she knew nothing about.

Because Jon had told her she could look at it, and because she was curious, she opened the data file. She frowned as she read the information. _Enterprise _was going to rendezvous with a Starfleet courier vessel this evening at about the time of the party. How could that have anything to do with what Jon was planning for Trip?

* * *

With no little trepidation, Hoshi walked into the mess hall that evening. The place was packed, and Irish music played merrily. Through the throng, she spotted Trip. She couldn't help but see him. In a sea of Starfleet uniform blue, he was wearing an obnoxiously garish Hawaiian shirt with a green shamrock theme. She could smell cooked cabbage as she walked over to where he was loading his plate with selections from the serving cabinets. "The condemned man getting his last meal?" she asked quietly.

"Aw, now don't be like that, Hoshi," he chided her. "I'm going to take my time, enjoy this good food, and then worry about...you know what."

She frowned dubiously.

"Really!" Trip insisted. "You have to admit that I worked awfully hard to get this meal. I deserve it."

"You're right," she said. "I'm sorry. You should enjoy this without worrying about...you know what. Which reminds me, I have an idea about explaining--"

She quickly shut her mouth when she saw Malcolm making his way toward them.

"Looks like a lovely meal," the tactical officer remarked. "Did you see the cake over there?"

Hoshi followed his gaze. An enormous cake, shaped like a shamrock and covered in green frosting, sat on a table near the windows. Chef was setting out dessert plates on the table.

"Chef certainly went all out," continued Malcolm. "I can't wait to see Murphy's reaction when he sees it."

"Me, either," murmured Hoshi.

"Where is Murphy, by the way?" he asked as he placed a large slice of corned beef on his plate.

Hoshi shrugged and looked at Trip. There was a stubborn set to the chief engineer's mouth. He appeared determined to carry out this farce until the very end.

Trip said cheerfully, "Finishing up some project, I expect."

"Well, he'd better hurry," Malcolm said. He glanced around the crowded mess hall. "Otherwise, there's not going to be anything left for him." He laughed. "I don't know how long Chef can hold off Travis."

Hoshi looked back at the cake table. Sure enough, Chef was haranguing Travis to stay away from the cake. She cringed when she heard him say something about letting Murphy have the first piece. If they waited for that to happen, no one was going to get any cake.

Trip led the way to an empty table. As the three officers sat down, T'Pol passed by carrying a tray that held a single bowl. Hoshi caught the faintest whiff of plomeek soup.

"Subcommander," Malcolm said. "Would you care to join us?"

A look of distaste passed over the Vulcan's face. "No, thank you. I intend to dine in my quarters. I find the smell of this evening's repast somewhat...repugnant." Her gaze took in all three of them and their plates, which were piled with the repugnant repast. "No offense intended."

"Yeah, well, cooked cabbage has that effect even on some humans," Trip said. "You being a vegetarian, I thought you might like it."

T'Pol stared impassively at him. "Give Commander Murphy my regards."

"Happy St. Patrick's Day anyway!" Trip called after her as she walked away.

Hoshi noticed his cheer seemed rather forced. It was going to be difficult to put Murphy out of his mind during dinner if people kept bringing him up. On that note, she saw Phlox bustling toward their table.

"May I join you?" the doctor asked. He put his plate on the table and slid into a seat without waiting for a response. "I can't wait to try these Earth delicacies. I've had cabbage before -- usually in egg rolls or cole slaw -- but never just cooked by itself." He shook out his napkin and placed it on his lap. "I'm not sure what this rather pungent white substance is, however."

"That's horseradish," Trip said around a mouthful of corned beef. "Gives the meat a little extra zip."

Phlox dipped the tines of his fork into the small pile of horseradish on his plate and took a taste. "Intriguing!" He dug into the horseradish for a second taste. "I like it! I should have taken a bigger helping."

"It's more of a condiment," Trip told him. "Most humans don't care to eat horseradish by itself."

"If it's not a side dish, it ought to be," Phlox responded, licking his lips. He paused to glance around. "I see everyone's enjoying the meal."

Hoshi waited, knowing it wouldn't take long for the inevitable question to crop up.

"Where's Commander Murphy?" Phlox asked, right on cue.

Malcolm, busy eating, didn't say anything. Trip and Hoshi traded a glance. Before either of them could come up with a plausible answer, an announcement came over the intercom: "Commander Tucker and Ensign Sato, please report to the captain's mess."

Trip looked at his barely touched dinner before lifting his gaze to Hoshi's face. "Whatever the captain wants, it couldn't have waited?" he asked plaintively.

"Come on," Hoshi said, putting her napkin to the side of her plate and getting to her feet. What Trip failed to realize was that this was the perfect opportunity to avoid answering Phlox's inquiry about Murphy.

Trip reluctantly got to his feet and followed her. Halfway to the captain's private mess, he stopped as if struck by a lightning bolt. "Hey! Maybe the cap'n just wants some company for dinner, since T'Pol's eating in her quarters. I'll just go get my plate--"

Hoshi grabbed him by the arm as he turned back toward their table. "I'm sure it won't take more than a few minutes, and then we can come back. We shouldn't keep the captain waiting."

Trip grumbled under his breath but let himself be led toward the captain's mess. "What if this is about Murphy?"

Hoshi was sure it was, but she wasn't about to tell him that.

* * *

Jon was seated at his dining table, his steward placing a plate of corned beef and cabbage in front of him, when Trip and Hoshi walked in. "That will be all for now, Cunningham," he told the steward, "but make sure I get a piece of that cake before the crew devours all of it."

"Yes, sir," Cunningham responded and withdrew.

Jon reached for the glass mug of green beer next to his plate, took a long swallow, and put the mug back on the table before looking at his two officers. "I want you two to see Commander Murphy off," he told them.

Trip and Hoshi, standing just inside the doorway, looked at each other, then back at Jon.

"Sir?" Trip asked, his voice quivering.

"He's needed on another ship." Jon cut a piece of corned beef, popped it into his mouth, and sighed appreciatively as he chewed. He could see Trip practically drooling. He must have timed his page perfectly. "This is really good. Have you had any of this?" He used his fork to point at the corned beef on his plate.

"We were just getting to that when you paged us," Trip said.

"Well, I'd ask you to join me, but since you two seem to have become Murphy's closest acquaintances in the short time he's been on board, I thought it would be appropriate if you were at the airlock when he left. The bridge just contacted me -- the courier vessel has docked with us and is waiting for him. Tell him goodbye, how much we appreciate all his work, and so on."

As Trip closed his eyes, Jon winked at Hoshi. "Oh, there's a package at the airlock that's supposed to go to the courier's pilot. Give it to him with my regards, would you?"

"Of course, sir," she said, following his lead like a good officer should. He wasn't sure, but he thought he detected the beginnings of a smile on her face.

"Sir," Trip began. "There's something I ought to tell you. I--"

Jon waved a piece of fork-impaled corned beef at him. "Later, Trip. I know you'll want to say goodbye. Murphy did a lot of good work for you, and your reports on his progress were very complimentary -- probably crucial to his getting this reassignment."

Trip looked like he wanted to protest, but Hoshi grabbed his arm and practically dragged him out of the room. She may have started out as Trip's accomplice, Jon thought, but she was doing well as his, too.

He took another bite of the beef as the door closed behind them. The meat was good, almost sweet, and very tender.

"I really ought to thank Murphy for this," he said to himself, then laughed.

* * *

"Just go with me to the airlock," Hoshi hissed at Trip as they marched past the entrance to the mess hall.

"I'll go," Trip said, "but you and I both know there's not going to be anybody to transfer. You should have let me tell the captain." He ran a hand through his hair as they hurried along. "I can't believe Starfleet got their hands on Murphy's personnel file, much less thought it was real! How are we going to explain this?"

Hoshi kept her silence. What she'd noticed -- and Trip apparently hadn't -- was that Jon hadn't mentioned Starfleet. He'd only said that Murphy was needed on another ship. She didn't know what was going to happen next, but surely it couldn't be as bad as what Trip was dreading.

They turned down the corridor with the airlock to see that its hatch was open. A man dressed in a Starfleet uniform with lieutenant's bars -- the pilot of the courier ship -- was waiting inside. Hoshi's eye was caught by something that was out of place. A brown paper bag sat on the deck next to the hatch.

"There's the package the captain mentioned," she said.

Trip halted about two meters from the airlock. As he shifted from foot to foot, obviously uncomfortable with the situation, Hoshi picked up the bag. Inside was a bottle. A grin split her face as she pulled the bag far enough away from the bottle to see the label.

"I believe the transfer is in order," Hoshi said, handing the bag to the waiting pilot. "Murphy's all set and ready to go."

"Thanks, ma'am," said the pilot. "Tell Captain Archer I appreciate it."

"But what about--?" Trip said. "I mean--"

The pilot looked at him in puzzlement. "Is there something else...sir?" The 'sir' was delayed, perhaps because Trip's shamrock-print shirt had no rank insignia.

"Yeah," Trip said. "We're supposed to transfer a lieutenant commander to you so he can go to another ship."

"My orders said to pick up my package," the pilot said, clutching the bag more tightly. "I don't know anything about transporting an officer."

"But--" Trip started to splutter.

Hoshi took pity on both men. "Show him the bottle, Lieutenant," she told the pilot.

The pilot pulled the bottle out of the bag and held it so Trip could see the label.

"Murphy's Fine Irish Whiskey!" Trip whispered in disbelief.

"Yeah, I can hardly believe it myself," said the pilot. "When Captain Archer contacted me and said he wanted to give it to me for shuttling him around the last time he was back on Earth, I was floored. It's not often higher-ups appreciate things like that, much less remember them, but he saw that I'd been assigned to courier duty in this section of space and..." The man trailed off, his face taking on a pinkish tinge, as if he'd just realized he might be talking to one of those said higher-ups.

"We'd better let you get on your way," Hoshi said.

The pilot gave her a nod and pushed the control to close the door.

Trip was still staring at the airlock as Hoshi gently took his arm and turned him away. "Murphy's Fine Irish Whiskey," he said. He suddenly focused down at her. "Jon knew about Murphy, didn't he?"

* * *

Trip and Hoshi walked into the mess hall in time to hear the announcement over the intercom.

_"I just wanted to let you all know,"_ said Jon's voice, _"that Lieutenant Commander Murphy, who was temporarily assigned to Enterprise, had to transfer unexpectedly to another ship."_

A murmur of disappointment rose from those in the mess hall.

_"I know I'm not the only one who can say that they appreciate the outstanding work he put in during the short time he was here. We're going to miss him. But I'm sure Commander Murphy would be the first to say that we shouldn't let his absence throw a damper on our St. Patrick's Day party. Carry on."_

Malcolm and Phlox were still seated at the table where Hoshi and Trip had left them.

"Commander, Ensign," Phlox greeted them as they retook their seats. "It's a shame Commander Murphy had to miss all this. After all, it was really for his benefit."

"Yes, it is a shame," Trip agreed with a huge grin.

Hoshi caught Malcolm staring curiously at Trip as the engineer dug back into his corned beef, boiled potatoes, and cabbage with too much enthusiasm for someone who had just lost an ace member of his staff. It would be just like Trip to ruin all the work Jon had done to help him, joke or not. Really, she thought, there were times someone needed to save Trip from himself.

She cleared her throat, picked up her glass of green beer, and lifted it. "Here's to Commander Murphy!"

"Hear! Hear!" said Malcolm, lifting his own glass.

The toast was echoed by others throughout the mess hall.

She cast a glance at Trip as she took a sip. He'd lifted his own glass to the toast. She thought that the rising blush on his face contrasted nicely with the green beer.

--the end--


End file.
